


baby we're the new romantics

by orphan_account



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, cssv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-09-26 18:13:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9914945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Emma moves to Storybrooke after a nasty break-up with Neal to start a new life and mend her broken heart. The neighbor who lives to the left might be the solution to what she needs.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title derived from Taylor Swift's, "New Romantics"  
> CSSV gift for @sheriffchiselchin on tumblr

_ We’re all bored, we’re all so tired of everything _

_ We wait for trains that just aren’t coming _

 

Emma rubs her eyes and lets out a sigh as she grips the steering wheel. She tilts her head to glance at the rearview mirror, the myriad city lights enlightening the midnight sky.

She sighs again and leans back in her seat, releasing the wheel to sip from the Dunkin Donuts cup. She turns on her phone to check the time, the digital clock on the car broken.  _ 10:14 p.m. _ She tries to gather her thoughts together as she realizes that Neal will never come.

Tears filling her green eyes, she sets the phone down on the passenger seat and starts the yellow Bug, rolling down the window to let the summer heat in. She glances back into the rearview mirror, a small piece of her hoping to see Neal strolling up to the car with a box of doughnuts and and two cups of hot chocolate. That had been their special thing when they got together.

No Neal with doughnuts. No Neal with hot chocolate.

No Neal.

Emma brushes a stray tear rolling down her cheek as she checks the time again. She had given Neal until until ten o’clock to come and apologize for everything and maybe even win her heart back.

But it’s now 10:18 and there is no sign of him ever coming back to her.

Anger replaces sadness as she vigorously grabs the steering wheel and begins to pull from the curb, doing the best thing she’s ever decided to do whenever things don’t go right.

She runs away.

*******

She escapes to Storybrooke in Maine, a quaint town, small and full of friendly people that befriend anyone who comes. It’s definitely what she needs after a wasteful four years of her life in busy Boston with the man who broke her heart.

With the help of Granny - the owner of the best diner in town - and her granddaughter, Ruby, Emma finds an apartment about three blocks away from the diner and rents it. She also befriends Mary Margaret, a schoolteacher with a heart of gold, and her husband, Sheriff David Nolan. They treat her to a delicious breakfast at Granny’s, along with David’s offer for a position at the police station. She thanks them all for everything, but immediately leaves and drives back to her apartment, the kindness overbearing her.

She doesn’t remember the last time someone was truly kind to her. 

Well, she might remember. But now she realizes that kindness was never genuine. 

She unpacks the duffel bag and a cardboard box she had taken with her, folding her clothes and hanging up her precious red leather jacket in the hall closet. When she finishes, she decides to purchase a mattress, the one in the apartment bearing a large hole in the center. As she locks the apartment door, she glances to the left and notices a door. She wonders what kind of neighbor she could be living next to, but decides not to knock on the door and introduce herself.

She doesn’t do things like that.

She purchases a soft, twin-sized mattress and has it delivered to the apartment, then she makes a quick stop at the grocery store to purchase a box of blueberry-flavored pop tarts, a box of pre-made macaroni and cheese, a bag of barbecue chips, and a packet of fresh strawberries. Her meal choices are definitely frowned upon, she decides, ignoring the judgmental look the cashier throws in her direction. 

Emma returns to the apartment and is greeted with the sight of the new mattress propped up against the door. She shoves it to the side to unlock the door and set her grocery purchases on the counter-top in the kitchen before she tosses the key on the sofa and opens the door wider to fit the mattress through the doorway.

She tucks back loose strands of hair that have escaped her blonde ponytail and cracks her knuckles before she lifts the bedding partly off the floor. It slips from her fingers and immediately topples over, striking her foot before landing on the floor with a loud  _ thud _ .

“You have got to be kidding me,” she groans, squatting down on the floor to lift the mattress. Her grip is not strong enough, and the mattress slips from her fingers again, landing with a second thud on the wooden planks. She glares at the mattress, wishing she had magic to whisk it into the apartment with a flick of the wrist.

But if magic were a thing, she wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place, so she sucks in her breath and kicks at the mattress before she squats again and hoists the bedding with a steadier grip this time. She manages to bring it to a standing pose, applauding herself silently before she begins to push it to the doorway of the flat.

The door to the left suddenly swings open, but Emma doesn’t have time to greet her mysterious neighbor, so she pays no heed and continues to push the mattress, groaning involuntarily at her straining muscles.

A good workout at the gym is what she needs. She’ll have to find a local one.

“Are you in need of assistance, love?” a male British accent suddenly speaks and she almost drops the mattress - for the third time - in amazement at the sound of the insanely attractive voice talking to her.

_ Get a grip, Emma _ , she reprimands herself.  _ A voice can’t be that sexy unless the person talking is sexy. _

“No,” she answers with a grunt as she catches the mattress in time before it tumbles on the floor again. “I don’t need a knight in shining armor,” she adds, cursing under her breath when the mattress threatens to slip from her grasp.

The British voice chuckles.  _ Damn, even his laugh is sexy _ , she thinks for a moment before rolling her eyes at herself.

“As enticing as your biceps are, love, you do need my assistance,” the speaker continues, and she glowers at the floor. How dare he flirt with her? Doesn’t he know her heart has been freshly broken and she is trying to assemble the shattered pieces together? 

Of course the poor man doesn’t know that, but that doesn’t stop the green-eyed girl from searching for a second pair of feet. When she finds classic blue Vans planted near the far end corner of the mattress, she immediately loosens her grip, allowing it to crash down on the sneakers.

“Bloody hell!” the man cries out, but he doesn’t manage to escape the attack of the bedding. It lands on his feet, earning a grumble in response.

Emma tries not to think how that grumble would sound in rather  _ inappropriate  _ circumstances. Now is not the time to think that. 

“What was the bloody idea, lass?” the Brit asks in courteous anger.

“You’re annoying me,” she shoots as she swiftly positions the mattress horizontally - she’s used to doing that now - and pushes it into the apartment until the other side has passed the threshold. She props it against the wall and leans against it, breathing a sigh of relief before momentarily cringing at the thought of officially meeting the mysterious British neighbor.

She shifts to the ajar door and stops at the sight of a man with raven-black hair and blue eyes -  _ oh, what beautiful ocean-blue eyes  _ \- leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, revealing muscle underneath the short black sleeves. Annoyance lingers in his eyes, replaced with wonder and admiration as he straightens his position, staring at her with his mouth formed into the shape of a small  _ o _ . 

She tries not to think about kissing that small  _ o _ off his face.

“Let’s start this again, shall we?” the man offers, extending a hand towards her. “Hello, beautiful. Killian Jones at your service.”

She eyes him warily as she accepts his hand. “Emma Swan.”

“A pleasure, Swan,” Killian declares as he bows and brings her hand close to his face to brush a featherlight kiss to her knuckles.

She hastily removes her hand from his, all the way glaring at him as she ignores the electrifying way her hand feels clutched in his. He lets out a sheepish laugh as he straightens his back, his eyes never leaving hers.

She tries to ignore the nudging awareness that she already  _ feels _ something here with him, despite the fact that they have met naught two minutes ago.

_ Yeah, annoyance _ , she tells herself with an internal roll of the eyes.

She isn’t so convinced.

“Can you leave me alone?” she demands as she catches a glimpse of the bit of chest hair protruding from the v-shaped neckline of his shirt and attempts not to think of how the strands would feel if her fingers raked through them. “You’re distracting me from unpacking.”

“A good distraction, I presume?” Killian suggests, waggling his eyebrows mischievously at her, and Emma wants to kick herself for the situation she’s now in. She just  _ had _ to end up living next to a hot guy.

“You have no idea,” she grumbles to herself as she shoves him out of the way and glares at him. He stands in the corridor, regarding her with the amused smirk chiseled on his handsome face.

_ The smolder does suit him _ , she thinks before she says aloud, “Nice meeting you,” and shuts the door, taking care to lock it as well.

********

He comes by later that evening to apologize for his unforeseen flirtatious behavior, holding out a pot of homemade apple pie and a bottle of rum, both as a peace offering and as a gesture of welcome to the neighborhood.

She slams the door in his face, then opens it to snatch the pie and rum from his hands before slamming it again.

********

The next morning, when she arrives at the police station, she’s surprised to see Killian sitting at the desk as he sorts through paperwork. She assumes he is stalking her before she realizes the truth.

He  _ works  _ at the police station.

The same one David works at.

And she is assigned to the same shift as he is.

Isn’t fate such a wonderful friend.

“Good morning, Swan,” he greets her good-naturedly.

“Shut up,” she responds as she plops down at the desk to fill out a sheet with a blue Bic pen he hands to her.

Fortunately, Ruby enters the station at that moment to start her shift as well, and it isn’t long before both fall to talking and laughing together as if they’ve known each other their entire lives.

Where was Ruby when Emma needed her at the foster center?

Sometimes, when the two are exchanging funny anecdotes and they are laughing so much their cheeks pain from smiling so much, Emma catches Jones gazing at her, his mouth formed into that same small  _ o _ and his eyes blown wide as if she is a mystifying wonder and he wants to  _ know  _ her, to be her friend and always be in her presence.

She pointedly rolls her eyes, earning a sheepish grin in return and she looks back at Ruby, who is wiping tears from her eyes before beginning to giggle again.

But something tugs in her and she wants to  _ know him too _ , to know his darkest secrets and lightest ones, to be his  _ friend _ too.

She screwed that up the day they met. There’s no chance of a friendship happening now.

“There’s going to be a bonfire down at the beach next Saturday,” Ruby announces as she claps her hands in excitement. “You and Killian can come together since you guys live next to each other.”

Emma shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she begins to say before she is cut off with Ruby’s pointed look.

“Oh come on, you’re so into him,” she says softly, tilting her head towards Killian, who is oblivious to the whispered conversation exchanged between the two women. “He’s into you!”

“Mm, I don’t like the idea,” the blonde decides, secretly wishing her friend would drop the subject.

“But you guys can at least go to the bonfire together,” Ruby suggests.

Normally, Emma would agree to a quiet Saturday evening of binge-watching movies on Netflix and eating Chinese takeouts before passing out on the couch at two in the morning in the middle of  _ The Princess Bride _ or whatever other movie she’s decided to replace her childhood favorite with for the night.

But the idea of a bonfire sounds like fun, and she could use take advantage of the chance to meet more of the people who reside in Storybrooke, even if having to be accompanied by her annoyingly gorgeous neighbor. So she agrees to the plan and it’s settled. She’s going to the bonfire with Killian Jones.

********

_ We’re so young but we’re on the road to ruin _

_ We play dumb but we know exactly what we’re doing _

 

After some debating, Emma opts for a pair of jean shorts and a lacy beige top with a pair of brown gladiator sandals, along with the leather jacket in case there is a hint of late night beach breeze. She waits in the living room until she hears a knock at the door. She opens it to reveal Killian standing there in a - rather - snug pair of jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a white tee underneath. He holds out a red rose.

“You look lovely, Swan,” he says with a grin that can rival the Cheshire Cat’s, and Swan rolls her eyes as she takes the rose from him and places it on the small stand next to the sofa.

“We’re not dating,” she affirms and Killian lifts his hands in surrender.

“Aye, Swan,” he says. “Though I do fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me.”

Emma rolls her eyes as she closes the door, accompanying Killian down the stairs. They decide to use her yellow Bug, so she drives and Killian sits next to her, the ride to the beach silent but oddly comfortable. She rolls down the window, the summer breeze whisking in her face as she briefly stares at the small clouds basking in the last remaining bits of blue sky. 

They arrive at the beach just as the sun begins to set, releasing a yellow-orange palette as the fiery ball slowly sinks beneath the horizon. She stares at the water, the reflection of the sun beaming back into her eyes, completely mesmerized by the beauty of the ocean and the beach.

She is greeted by an excited Ruby, who has already started to drink. “So, you came with Killian,” the brunette points out with a raised eyebrow as she tilts her head back and quaffs her shot of tequila.

“You told me,” Emma retaliates, ignoring the second pointed look her friend shoots her with.

“Why don’t you give him a chance?” she asks as she links arms with the blonde, leading her towards the large crowd assembled near a large rectangular table bearing refreshments. “He seriously likes you.”

Emma scoffs. “No he doesn’t,” she says, knowing damn well he actually does have a small infatuation of her, as she can judge from the small  _ o _ ’s he makes with his mouth and the wonder that circles in his blue irises whenever he looks at her.

“Give him a chance,” Ruby tells her.  “Look, I know you’re still hurting from that asshole,” she adds, glowering for a moment. “But I think Killian can help you move on. You don’t know it now, but you might have a lot more in common with him than you think.”

Emma remains silent as she reflects over her friend’s words.  _ Ruby might be right _ , she thinks as she trails down the sand dunes until the two ladies arrive at the table. David and Mary Margaret approach them with their ten-year-old orphan nephew, Henry, and Emma immediately takes a liking to the kid, especially when she discovers they both have a love for the  _ Star Wars  _ movie series. They chat animatedly about the upcoming release of the new movie and make plans to go to the theater in December - with David Mary Margaret’s approvals, of course.

Henry is called away by a friend, so Emma trails over to the refreshment station and pours herself a shot of tequila, gasping when somebody roughly bumps into her. Her beverage spills out of the plastic cup onto her shirt, completely soiling the front.

“Bugger off, bloody git!” a familiar British voice curses as she turns around to confront the person who bumped into her. Those gorgeous blue eyes that she  _ hasn’t started seeing in her dreams yet _ stare back at her, widening in embarrassed surprise.

“Apologies, Swan,” he says in concern. “Will, that bloody git, was being a bit rough. Are you all right?”

“I was doing just fine until you bumped into me,” she replies with a sarcastic grin as she fans her shirt with her hands, hoping the African-shaped stain would dry as soon as possible.

“Your shirt’s ruined,” he announces and Emma opens her mouth to retort something about pointing out the obvious, but she doesn’t say anything when Killian shrugs out of his flannel and hands it to her. “Change into this, you can’t walk around with a soiled shirt.”

She eyes him warily but does not take the flannel from him. 

He lowers his voice as he whispers in her ear. “Your top is rather wonderfully  _ revealing _ , love, but you can’t walk around with a large stain on it. Here, take my shirt and change into it.”

Her eyes narrow when he says the innuendo, but it doesn’t prevent Killian from nudging the flannel to her. She eventually takes it, gingerly holding it by the collar as she stalks off to one of the portable bathrooms where she peels off the wet tank top and stuffs her arms into the warm red plaid sleeves. As she buttons the shirt, she refrains from buttoning completely to the neck. After all, she had worn that beige shirt for  _ personal reasons _ ; she can do the same with the shirt of the guy she thinks about more often than not.

She leaves the bathroom and strolls to the Bug to drop the shirt off in the vehicle before she rejoins the party, immediately pounced on by Ruby.

“Why are you wearing Killian’s flannel?” Ruby demands.

“I spilled tequila all over my shirt because Killian bumped into me and he said I can’t walk around with a big stain, so he gave me his flannel to wear,” Emma sighs, ignoring the judgmental raise of her friend’s eyebrow.

“Oh come on, Emma! He seriously is into you, give him a chance!” Ruby squeals, clapping her hands excitedly. “You’re wearing his flannel!”

“Because he’s all into ‘good form’ and all that,” Emma pinpoints, but she can’t help looking down at the sand pitifully, digging a hole with her sandal.

“All right, I won’t mention Killian for the rest of the night. Let’s go have fun!” Ruby suggests, looping arms with Emma. “he’s just a distraction.”

_ A really good one _ , Emma thinks with chagrin as the brunette drags her back to the crowd surrounding the firepit. A few men - including David and  _ he-who-must-not-be-named _ \- have begun to light the fire. In a matter of seconds, bright red-orange flames shoot to the sky and the blonde stares at them as the sparks fly and land on the sand. The smell of burning wood wafts under her nose; she finds the smell pleasant and comforting. 

The sun has officially set, leaving behind a black sky dotted with stars. People seat themselves down on log benches fixated around the firepit as Emma and Ruby pass around bags of marshmallows and sticks used for roasting the white gooey sweets.

Mary Margaret hands out packs of graham crackers and bars of milk chocolate to everyone assembled, laughter filling the air when Henry’s marshmallow catches on fire and Killian reaches over to blow out the fire for the boy. Emma stares at Killian, noting how well he interacts with kids when he whispers something in Henry’s ear and Henry guffaws, his childish laughter mingling with the voices of adults conversing about various subjects. 

Killian grins and scratches behind his ear timidly as he looks away. When he lifts his head and meets Emma’s stare, his eyes widen in satisfied wonder. She notices the effect she has on him with the shirt, so she runs a finger innocently along the collar, winking at him before she looks away to answer Ruby’s question. When she looks back at Killian, his eyes are blown wide and his mouth is opening and closing like a fish. Emma doubles over in silent laughter, smiling even more when Killian grins sheepishly back at her.

As the night progresses, Emma feels at  _ home _ for the first time in the twenty-three years of her life. Everyone is so eager to meet her and learn all about her, and she finds herself conversing with six people at once, all so enthusiastic to befriend her. 

David produces a guitar that had been propped against the log behind him, and he strums the strings, the notes to  _ This Afternoon _ filling the air as voices join David’s. Mary Margaret, Ruby, and Henry begin to clap to the beat of the song, Henry nudging at Emma’s elbow until Emma grins at him and begins to clap, laughing as everyone joins in. The chorus ends in more applause and laughter and David strums the strings again when someone in the crowd shouts out a song request.

When Emma finishes eating a s’more, she excuses herself and rises from her seat to walk over to the refreshment station, successfully pouring a shot. She leans against the table and sips her beverage, raising her eyebrows when Killian joins her.

She doesn’t know where to start, so she begins by thanking him for letting her wear his flannel.

“Anytime, love,” Killian responds. “Although it is bad form to tease a man in his own clothing,” he whispers in her ear and she stifles a giggle behind her hand, removing it from her face to smile mischievously at him. 

He pours himself a tumbler of rum and parrots her position, both remaining silent as they sip their drinks. She feels strangely at peace around him, knowing she never has to say anything to him. She finds his company comforting and peaceful. Maybe he’s overlooking her behavior to him over the past week?

“Want to join me down at the beach?” Killian asks, breaking Emma’s thread of thoughts.

“Why?” she asks.

“I just want a friend,” he admits. “Besides, I’d love to get to know you.”

“I don’t tell people my personal business,” she bites with a glare.

“I know, Swan,” I figured as much when we met,” Killian chuckles, throwing up his hands in defeat. “How about we go down to the beach and drink. Consider it as a  tête-à-tête.”

She tilts her head as she regards him thoughtfully. “All right, fine,” she decides, suppressing a smile when she sees his eyes light up happily. He takes the bottle of rum and his tumbler and waits while she tosses the shot into the trash and takes a tumbler. They look back once at the firepit, but their friends are too engrossed in a performance of  _ Don’t Stop Believin’ _ to notice that anybody is missing. 

The twosome hike down closer to the beach and Emma can feel her heart beating rapidly and loudly in her chest, secretly wishing Killian can’t hear it. When she thinks he isn’t looking, she sneaks a glance at him and admires the perfectly cut jawline and the reddish-brown scruff covering it. Her eyes trail down his body and stop to stare at his hand grasping the bottle by the neck. A part of her longs to lace her fingers with his and have his chin nestled on top of her golden head.

“Enjoying the view, love?” he questions without turning his head, and Emma thanks the darkness for concealing her burning red cheeks.

“What view?” she scoffs, barely catching the smirk of defeat chiseled on his handsome face as they continue descending down the dunes until they are just far enough to hear the distant sound of laughter, applause, and singing. 

The waves crash softly against the shoreline and Emma hands the two tumblers to Killian so she can unbuckle her gladiator sandals and place them carefully on the sand before walking down to the spot where water meets land. The ocean washes over her feet and she shivers momentarily at the contact of cold water touching bare skin, but she stays rooted to the spot. She’s always wondered why her countless foster parents could never bring her down to the ocean just once. After living all her life in the city, she finally sees the ocean for the first time with her own eyes, and she’s fallen in love with it.

“Never seen the ocean, Swan?” Killian asks behind her, but she doesn’t turn around.

“Only in movies,” she admits quietly. “I never got the chance. How could I? My childhood sucked.”

She notices out of the corner of her eye that Killian is now standing next to her, sneakers off, jeans rolled up to his knees. He has his arms crossed, his biceps flexing underneath the sleeves that cover his shoulders and part of his arms. She tries  _ really  _ hard not to think about how those biceps would feel in her grasp.

_ I am so so screwed for this guy _ , she thinks as she listens to the sound of the water, wondering what secrets the ocean could hold. She’s read about some of them, accounts of marine biologists exploring the underwater world, analyzing specimens of coral and observing the lives of clown fish and whales. And now, she finally gets to be near them above land, wondering just what life is like under the sea.

“I grew up by the beach,” Killian begins, his voice breaking the silence. “When I lived in England, father owned a fishing post and he used to take Liam and I fishing every Saturday. We’d catch a bucketload of fish and bring them home where mother would greet us with a kiss and a sauerkraut salad and apple pie. She’d help father skin and cook the fish, and that would be our lunch on Sundays after the church service.”

She turns her head to glance at the small wistful smile teasing the corners of his lips, sensing that the story would not have a good ending. Most stories don’t. “What happened?” she whispers.

 

“That’s for the rum to tell,” he responds as he offers a hand to her. She takes it, careful to avoid intertwining her fingers with his, and they walk away from the shore to the spot where the rum, the plastic glasses, and their shoes wait for them. They sit down on the sand and Emma holds out the tumblers so Killian can pour some rum in each of them.

She throws her head back as she sips, the alcohol leaving a burning sensation in her throat, not finding it wholly unpleasant. If she is going to reveal the deepest parts of herself, she might as well get used to the rum.

“Mother passed away when I was eight years old,” Killian continues quietly and Emma rubs his arm in comfort, her heart already hurting for this gorgeous man who clearly hasn’t led the most pleasing life. “Not long after that, father left us alone and Liam had no choice but to take care of me. He was my elder brother,” he adds and Emma nods, silently asking for the continuation of the narration.

“Liam was the best bloody man I will ever know in my life,” he whispers, finger tapping against the tumbler as the same small wistful smile teases at the corners of his lips again. Emma can’t help but smile too as she watches the mixed emotions dancing in his sad blue eyes.

_ We cry tears of mascara in the bathroom, _

_ Honey, life is just a classroom _

 

She learns that he is about two years older than her, that he graduated with a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice, that he left England after Liam lost his life in a drunken car accident. She learns about Milah, the woman who broke his heart and made him vow never to fall in love again.

She reveals her deepest secrets to him when he finishes speaking: that she is an orphan, that she was never kept in a foster home for longer than a month, that she never met people who cared about her until she met Neal - which backfired in the end. She reveals the reason she came to Storybrooke - to start a new life and mend her broken heart - and he is the one to swing a comforting arm around her shoulders and hold her close to him.

“Bloody bastard,” he murmurs angrily. 

She lets out a short laugh and he joins in with his chuckle, a feeling a of serenity descending amongst them. She unintentionally drops her head on his broad shoulder and closes her eyes, basking in the moment of being held by Killian Jones.

Ruby was right. They both have a  _ lot  _ in common.

They don’t get up until they’ve drank enough rum to be a bit tipsy and sober at the same time. Emma giggles as she leans against Killian, who grins back at her and tucks a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She stills, the act not foreseen, but Killian doesn’t allow her to push him away, holding on to her as she stumbles along their way back to the group.

The group has dispersed, leaving behind the Ruby, Will, and several other young people who have been assisting in cleaning up. Emma avoids Ruby’s pointed look and clambers into the passenger seat of the Bug. “You can drive,” she tells Killian, tucking her feet underneath her as she rests her head on the shoulder of the car seat and closes her eyes.

She opens her eyes when the car stops, realizing she is back home. But she feels really comfortable in the position, refusing to get up. She feels drowsy from all the alcohol she’s drank, remaining in the car when Killian closes the door behind him.

Her door suddenly opens and Killian is softly unbuckling her seatbelt, lifting her carefully -  _ and almost tenderly _ \- as he closes the door with his foot and enters the apartment building, ascending the flight of stairs to the second floor where he asks Emma for the key to her apartment.

She digs into the pocket of her shorts, producing a brass key, and Killian holds her gently as he unlocks the door with one hand and enters the apartment, depositing her on the couch.

“Thank you,” she mumbles softly, opening her eyes to peer at the man who is staring down at her with admiration circling in his eyes.

“Good night, Emma,” he says, his eyes lingering on her lips for a moment before looking back up at her eyes. 

“Good night, Killian,” she replies as she stretches and rubs her eyes, hearing his soft chuckle before the door closes behind him.

She is suddenly awake, thinking of the heart-to-heart conversation they had. She’s never felt this way before, not even with Neal. As she contemplates over her mixed feelings, she looks down and realizes she is still wearing Killian’s flannel.

No worries, she can return it tomorrow.

Or keep it forever.

Whichever makes her happy.

 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Emma awakens the next morning, wrapped in Killian’s flannel. She arches her back like a cat as she stretches, letting out a small yawn. Shifting so she can lie on her back, the blonde blinks her eyes and stares up at the ceiling, visions of last night replaying in her memory.

Did she reveal her entire life story to Killian at the beach? Maybe not _all_ of it, but definitely most of it. She tenses at that, reminding herself that not even Ruby knows all the basics of the awful childhood she had. She groans and covers her face, groaning, “Why?” as she closes her eyes tightly.

_He understands. He is a kindred spirit. Maybe that’s why._

She eventually rises from the couch and trails to the bathroom, unbuckling her sandals and peeling off her clothing. She hops into the shower and turns on the faucet standing blankly in the tub until the boiling water shoots down on her foot. With a small yelp, she jumps back and turns the faucet to the right-hand side. She washes away the grime of the sand in her hair and the smell of the fire off her body with a bar of Dove soap.

Too bad that bar of soap won’t be able to wash away her messy thoughts.

Emma concludes the shower and steps out of the bathtub with the towel wrapped on top of her head like a turban. She swiftly dresses into jeans and a carnation-pink tee, and slides into black espadrilles, tying her hair up into an almost perfect bun. She swings a cross-body bag over her shoulder and exits the apartment, taking care to close the door quietly so Killian wouldn’t hear her leave. Starting the Bug, she debates for a while before she begins to drive in the direction of the beach. As reminiscent as the place is, she finds it calming at the same time. Maybe that’s where she can gather her thoughts together.

She parks the car where she had parked it the previous night, and walks down to the shoreline, the morning sun shining so brightly that its light reflects from the water into her bright green eyes. She sits on the sand and removes her phone from her bag, plugging in the earbuds after selecting a random playlist of Taylor Swift’s music on Youtube. “Sparks Fly” begins to blast in her ears, and she remains seated on the sand as she stares out into the horizon, avoiding contact between her hair and the sediments.

She stares out at the white masts of far-off sailboats bobbing in the ocean, the sunlight illuminating them. Seagulls fly overhead in the cloudless sky and it is hot, maybe a little over ninety-four degrees, but Emma couldn’t care less. She relishes in sitting out here alone.

After a serene half hour of gazing at the sea, loud laughter and excited shouting resound as people begin to arrive to spend a day sunbathing and swimming. Emma remains seated, wanting to gather a few last precious moments to herself before individuals soon start to overcrowd her area. She least expects anybody to come bother her, but she must’ve thought too soon because somebody taps her hesitatingly on her shoulder.

She pauses, “I Wish You Would,” to regard the intruder of her peace and quiet, and is startled to see the intruder is none other than Killian Jones. How did he find her?

“Swan, I did not expect to find you here,” he admits with a sheepish grin as he looks down at her. She mirrors his expression as she rises from the ground, wiping sand off the back of her jeans.

“Morning,” she says by way of greeting and the wary feelings come back, signalling to her to leave so Killian doesn’t discover more about her and hurt her in the process.

“Are you avoiding me?” he inquires under his breath and her body stiffens as she regards him with a cautious look.

“No,” she fibs, sighing when he lifts his eyebrows pointedly and cocks his head at her with his - _perfectly kissable_ \- lips set in a firm line.

“Is it because of our tête-à-tête of last night?” he continues to pry gently and she feels guilty because he can read her so well, so well it scares her.

She remains silent and reverts her attention to the blue of the water that somehow matches the eyes that gaze at her intently and understandingly.

“It’s not everyday that I reveal certain parts of myself to people,” she admits, earning a tender curve of his lips.

“Aye, love. Neither do I,” he tells her as he approaches her and lays his hands on her shoulders. “But I will promise you now that I will never hurt you. You will always be my friend.”

She glances at him warily, but her inner lie detector does not beep at all, and so she gives him a small smile in return. “Good.”

*******

They become amiable comrades after that, always talking to each other and joking and meeting up for meals and movie nights. They spend their lunch breaks together, sometimes with Ruby, and sometimes alone with each other when Ruby visits her boyfriend, Dr. Victor, at his office. They eat lunch either at Granny’s or at the harbor when the weather is mild-tempered and ideal. She usually orders onion rings to accompany her grilled cheese sandwich, but pilfers a few of his French fries, always receiving a dramatic huff and a wry smirk in return.

“Do you own a boat here?” Emma asks one afternoon as they recline on the beach and share the large portion of lasagna Granny had surprised them with.

“No, but I plan on it,” he responds. “And she wouldn’t be a mere _boat_ , Swan. She’d be a beautiful  ship,” he corrects with a grin as she rolls her eyes.

“ _She_? Seriously?”

“Aye, love. Don’t ever insult and disrespect a ship like that,” he mocks offense. “‘Tis bad form.”

Emma rolls her eyes again and playfully punches him on the arm as she laughs. “Idiot.”

“The idiot from whom you steal fries,” he adds, gazing at her with a twinkle in his eye when she pilfers yet another handful of them from his lap.

*******

He comes to her apartment at two-thirty in the morning, bearing a little bundle of ginger fur.

“Killian, look at the time,” she yawns when she opens the door, rubbing her eyes.

“But Swan, this poor little beast is all alone and cold and hungry,” he pouts, and it’s all she can do to stifle a laugh and not kiss the pout off his face.

The “poor little beast” happens to be a small ginger kitten with such bright green eyes that “can outshine yours, Swan,” and she lets out a pitiable mew, which instantly awakens Emma. She hurriedly ushers them into the loft and leads them to the kitchen.

She helps him warm up the kitten and feed it and lull it to sleep. While it slumbers in a nest of Emma’s clean fuzzy socks, Emma listens to Killian’s account of making patrols down by the docks and discovering the kitten huddled against the wall of the Storybrooke cannery. He had taken pity on the “poor little beast” and had immediately gathered her up and taken her to the building to ask for Swan’s opinion.

“I think you should keep her,” Swan announces, smiling when Killian’s face breaks out into a boyish grin. “On one condition,” she adds sternly. “I get to name her.”

“Aye, love. Whatever name your heart desires.”

She names the little bundle Tiger Lily, who at that moment opens her little eyes and stretches before tucking her little paws underneath her, falling back asleep immediately.

*******

She is indulging herself with a large bleu cowboy panini and sweet potato fries when she finds out he bought a new boat. He barges into her apartment excitedly and waves a key in the air.

“I bought the Jolly Roger!” he announces, a Cheshire-Cat grin plastered on his face, and she can’t help but laugh. He looks so _happy_ and she wishes she could see him as happy as this all the time. His blue, blue eyes sparkle brightly and she longs to run her finger against the happy crinkles and kiss that beautiful, youthful grin off his face. Instead, she settles for circling her arms around his waist as he lifts her up and twirls her in the air, their laughter combining into one resounding echo in the apartment.

They celebrate that night with Chinese takeouts and rum down by the beach, Emma promising Killian to accompany him on the boat’s first outing in the water.

“I can’t believe you named it the Jolly Roger,” she pronounces, shaking her head in disbelief as she surveys the contraption on Saturday morning. It is rather large, so she gives in to calling it a _ship_ instead of a boat.

“ _Her_ , Swan,” he corrects, frowning. “It is bad form not to use the correct pronoun.”

She stares at him. “Seriously?” she huffs. “Too bad you’re not a pirate.”

“You don’t have to be a pirate to captain a ship, love,” he tells her as he paces up and down the deck, _probably to check if anything is abnormal_ , she thinks, watching him before directing her gaze on Tiger Lily sunbathing on the white lounge chair.

They spend the entire day on the water, Killian steering the Jolly Roger off the coast of northern Maine and down to the most southern tip of the state. They eat their lunches of smoked salmon sandwiches and kale salad, finishing the meal off with homemade lemon pound cake Emma had painstakingly prepared the night before, _for the trip, not to impress him_ , she reprimands herself.

After lunch, he falls asleep while sitting in the lounge chair and Emma decides to walk around deck, leaning over the banister to look down at the waves crashing against the stern of the Jolly Roger. _He really found the right ship_ , she thinks to herself, proud of her friend for finally achieving one of his life-long dreams.

Said friend wakes up from his nap and she stares at his mussed hair in amusement, little pieces of the raven-black strands sticking up in the wrong places. Even though it shouldn’t be, she finds it adorable and attractive, and longs to smooth them down.

_No, Emma_ , she tells herself. _Don’t think of him that way_.

It is a good ninety-six degrees Fahrenheit outdoors and the heat finally gets to them. She ties her hair up into a topknot and bites her lip in frustration when her ponytail holder breaks. She digs through her bag and finds an extra ponytail holder, sighing in relief when she manages to tie the thick mass of blonde into the messy bun.

When she turns around, she is met by the sight of a _shirtless_ Killian, and _my oh my she should not be having the most sinful thoughts_ . Her eyes begin at the black hair covering his chest and follow the hairline down to the waistband of his shorts and _how will she control herself around him when he’s like that?_

He must notice her reaction because he turns to look at her heavily. The look lasts just a few seconds before he waggles his eyebrows mischievously, but the look was there. He _knows_ what he does to her.

Well, two can play a game.

“Killian, do you have an extra shirt I can use?” she asks him innocently. “It’s so hot. I should’ve worn a tank, not a shirt with sleeves.”

“In the captain’s quarters,” he says, pointing to the small staircase off to the side. She quickly runs down to the cabin and opens the first drawer of the dresser placed in the far left-corner. She finds shirts and tanks folded meticulously folded and placed in an organized fashion in the drawer.

Rummaging through the drawer but so that she does not disarrange the clothing, she pulls out a male undershirt. _Perfect_ , she thinks with a victorious smirk as she takes off the black t-shirt and pulls on the white cotton. She tugs at the ponytail holder, releasing the blonde waves and letting them tumble over her shoulders and down her back.

She returns to the deck where Killian’s back is facing her as he stares out at the water. She takes a moment to admire the toned muscles of his back.

He really is an attractive man.

She saunters up to where Killian is, standing beside him as she joins him in studying the bright blue of the ocean that has her thinking of his cerulean eyes. She notices out of the corner of her eye that he has turned his head to regard her. When she shifts her gaze to his handsome face, she sees that he has that same small _o_ formed on his mouth as he goggles at her.

He swallows. “It is bad form to tease a man in his own clothing,” he whispers, a moment of déjà vu fleeting between them.

She smirks then, lifting her eyebrows in suggestion as she watches him open and close his mouth like a fish. He narrows his eyes, the blue turning darker as he inches closer to her. She grins and lowers her eyes, waiting for him to close the distance between them, but then he quickly tears himself away from her and practically sprints to the steering wheel.

“Time to head back,” he announces, and she can detect the sheepishness in his voice.

She grins as she settles back in the lounge chair with Tiger Lily in her lap. She knows she’s won this time.

*******

Emma unlocks the door and pushes it open, sighing in relief when she sees the couch seeming to beckon her into the apartment. She sets a plastic bag down on the floor and collapses on the sofa as she stares up at the ceiling. It was truly a tedious day today, having to arrest some drunken idiot for breaking into the library to steal... _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_? Seriously? He had to settle for a classic instead of some precious spellbook or something?

The worst part of it was that Killian didn’t show up to work today. _“Buggering fool,” he would’ve said. “What the bloody hell.”_

Even his swears have managed to mingle with her language. How wonderful.

She remembers the dinner she had purchased, so she jumps up from the couch and unzips her black boots, leaving them stranded by the couch as she ambles to the kitchen in her mismatched ankle socks with the plastic bag in her hand. She takes out the takeout boxes from the bag and opens them, revealing chicken tenders in one box and mozzarella sticks in the other. Digging into the bag once more, she produces packets of honey mustard and bleu cheese, which she opens and squirts out in a small bowl before sitting down at the table and beginning to eat.

She hears Tiger Lily’s mew from next door and smiles, thinking of the frisky kitten and how much she adores taking care of it every now and then.

The kitten mews again, but not so softly as before. It sounds as if it’s a mewl for help.

Emma drops the mozzarella stick into the box as she listens intently.

The desperate meow echoes through the paper-thin walls.

Emma wipes her hands with a napkin and pushes back the chair as she walks to the door, forgetting to put on shoes. She saunters to Killian’s door and tries the knob, but it’s locked. She thinks of knocking on the door, but Killian must not be home, or Tiger Lily wouldn’t be crying so helplessly.

She lifts the _Welcome_ mat and finds the brass key underneath it, chuckling under her breath. She’s told Killian again and again that it is not safe to leave a key underneath the doormat.

_“Bloody hell, Swan,” he says. “Nobody would think of robbing a devilishly handsome bloke like me."_

_She swats him on the chest._

She unlocks the door and opens it, entering the apartment and searching for Tiger Lily. She finds the ginger bundle of fur crouching by the coffee table, green eyes staring up into hers forlornly.

The blonde realizes the kitten is hungry, so she flicks the light switch on in the kitchen and rummages through the fridge, frowning when she sees there is barely any food there. Surely Killian wouldn’t skip grocery shopping. In fact, he forces _her_ to go grocery shopping half the time, arguing that eating microwavable food and takeouts are simply not the healthiest choice.

She manages to find a half-opened carton of milk, so she takes that out and pours some of the white liquid into a coffee pot. She sets the coffee pot down on the stove and turns it on, waiting for the milk to warm up just enough so that it isn’t cold, but also so it doesn’t burn Tiger Lily’s tongue.

After a minute or two of waiting, she pours the warm milk into a china bowl and sets it down on the floor, the sound of the bowl clattering and seeming to call Tiger Lily. she comes, bounding on her paws and decreasing her speed as she sniffs at the milk before lapping at it.

Emma opens and closes cupboards until she finds the bag of catfood, which she pours into another bowl. The sound of the tinkling bits seems to catch Tiger Lily’s attention because she looks up from the milk, her eyes wide open with hunger as she intently watches Emma.

Emma smiles at the kitten and sets the new bowl next to the china one and the kitten transitions from the milk to the snack, the crunch of the food audible and re-echoing off the walls. Swan smiles again and runs her thumb gently over the animal’s head, wondering where Killian could be.

She tries calling him twice, and then three times, but he does not pick up.

Her heart suddenly chills. It’s not like Killian not to respond to incoming phone calls.

She joins Tiger Lily on the floor and sits with her legs crossed as she thinks. _Killian did not show up to work, Killian left Tiger lily without any food or drink, Killian did not respond to her calls._

And then she remembers.

It is the fourth anniversary of Liam’s death.

She suddenly begins to worry and panic. Knowing Killian, he must’ve missed work to go drink at the Rabbit Hole into despair. And he’ll most likely need someone to lean on when he does end up drinking too much.

She leaps from the floor and dashes to the door, ready to clamber into the Bug and drive above the speed limit to the bar so she can stop Killian before he decides to do something rash that he will regret.

But when she opens the door, she finds Killian standing there with bloodshot eyes and breath reeking of rum.

_  
Cause, baby, I could build a castle_  
 _Out of all the bricks they threw at me_  
 

“What the bloody hell are you doing here, Emma?” he asks angrily, and she winces at his use of her real name. But she doesn’t allow his rough temper deter her from taking care of him.

“Tiger Lily was hungry, so I came over to feed her. Where have _you_ been?” she demands, crossing her arms defiantly.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he answers with a wry smirk. “You’re not Liam. Why do you care?”

She rolls her eyes. “Stop being an asshole,” she commands, ignoring the dramatic huff Killian lets out. “Sit down here,” she adds, pointing to the couch.

He glares at her, but obeys, kicking his feet up and letting them rest on the coffee table while throwing his arms out on either side of the couch. She leans over him and places her hand on his forehead, frowning when he pushes her hand hastily away.

“Go drink some water,” she advises. “I’ll bring you some Advil because you’re definitely going to need it. Come on, I’ll help you get to bed so you can sleep.”

“You are not Liam, and you are not my girlfriend,” he rasps out, not bothering to budge from his spot. “Leave me alone.”

“Killian, I’m concerned,” she argues. “You’re drunk and you have a slight fever. Come on, go sleep. You really need the rest.”

“Why the bloody hell are you concerned?” he questions with taunting eyes and a crocodilian grin. “Is it because nobody was ever concerned for _you_?”

She steps back, meeting his jeering stare with a raise of her eyebrows. No, he wouldn’t dare -

“Aye. It is because nobody ever cared for you, love, not even your bloody parents. They left you on the side of the bloody road as a babe. You were always alone, you are alone now, and you will always be alone. At least I wasn’t alone once.”

He would dare.

Emma clenches her jaw as she shoots daggers at Killian, who reclines languidly on the sofa, as if he has no care in the world. “Killian, stop talking. Go to bed. You need to sleep.”

He seems to challenge her with that typical raise of his eyebrows and she is _furious_ that Killian would hurt her with such words. But she does not show him that his words hurt her. He is drunk, after all.

Even if the words he spews feel like venom.

“Stop being an asshole,” she glowers, and she is about to say more, but he raises his hand to speak.

“No, no, no,” he begins, shaking his head and a finger to emphasize his response. “I believe the word you’re looking for is gentleman.”

Now he’s just mocking her.

“Killian, I’m not kidding. You’re not well - “

“Oh, Swan. don’t act like you care for me now,” he interrupts her. “After all, you did reject my advances the day you dropped your bloody mattress on my foot.”

“But I know you still have feelings for me,” she says softly.

“Aye. Anger, hurt, disappointment,” he enumerates, and she rolls her eyes. “Really, love. How can you live with yourself?”

She glares at him again. “Killian, stop.”

“Why should I?” he challenges.

“Because I’ll be leaving,” she answers as she trails to the kitchen to pet Tiger Lily one last time before she returns to the door. “Good night, jerk,” she says before slamming the door shut. She reenters her loft and closes the door, taking care to lock it so Killian wouldn’t manage to break in if he got any ideas.

Her chicken tenders and mozzarella sticks are cold, but she still eats them, twiddling with the food in the sauces. Eventually, Killian’s words come biting back and she drops the unfinished mozzarella stick, two stray tears sliding down her face as she leans her forehead in the palms of her hands. How could he hurt her like that, especially when he promised not to?

She understands the poor man is grieving and trying to drown his sorrow in alcohol, but it _hurts_ . _He_ , of _all_ people, to spew such things at _her_.

No wonder it _hurts_.

When the silent tears cease to fall, she resolves never to speak him again.

*******

Killian doesn’t show up at work the next day and Emma is relieved because he is the last person she wants to see at the moment. Her platonic - really, developing romantic - feelings are replaced with hatred; a fiery pit of pure hatred burning inside her and consuming her whole as nasty thoughts of him fleet through her mind. It isn’t right to hate him; after all, he had been drunk.

_That doesn’t give him an excuse_ , Emma justifies herself, angrily stapling papers. Ruby slightly raises her eyebrows and is about to ask her something, but seems to think better and turns away, casually commenting on the kid who carelessly trailed off the path to discover “a magic vault.”

At the end of her shift, Emma doesn’t go home; she purchases her dinner instead at Granny’s and drives down to the beach, parking the Bug by the docks. She takes the plastic bag from the trunk and her phone, and steps over the short, wired gate before descending down the sandy dunes to the shoreline.

When she walks close enough to the water that it will wash over her boot-clad feet, she seats herself on the dry sediments, taking out the styrofoam container. She opens it, the aroma of fried scallops and French fries hitting her nose.

Shoot. She got French fries instead of onion rings.

What was she _thinking_?

“That I have nobody to steal fries from,” she answers aloud, her voice echoing in the air as seagulls squawk loudly from a distance. She shakes her head, her waves falling over her face, and she pushes the strands back as she begins to eat, her dinner strangely not as delicious.

_As it’d be if Killian were here_ , she realizes, groaning in frustration as she rubs her forehead before turning on her phone and scrolling through her music playlist, selecting “Sad Beautiful Tragic,” and the notes of the piano begin to belt, accompanied by the strumming of the guitar strings. She listens intently to the song, trying to focus on the lyrics, but she finds herself thinking about last night instead.

She understands Killian was drunk and hurting, and she hates how much she wants to pardon him because she _knows_ how it’s like to be hurting. But a part of her is refusing to believe that Killian would never intend to spew such venom at her. She wants to run, away from him and away from the feelings she has begun to develop for him.

She is so engrossed on thinking and eating scallops that she almost does not hear a confused, “Swan?” behind her. She gasps and turns around, her green eyes meeting the blue ones she is so desperately trying to ignore. And oh, they are so sad, so sorrowful she wants to throw her arms around him and whisper words of comfort into his ear.

The signals of panic go off inside her heart and she doesn’t pay heed to him, instead turning back around to stare at the flowing waves of the water as the sun begins to set, painting the ocean a lovely shade of yellow-orange.

“Did I miss much at the station, love?” he questions as he plops down beside her.

She feels like she is burning. _Seriously? He’s going to disregard everything that happened just like that?_

“Mm-mm,” is all she responds with, scooting away an inch. _Way to go, Emma_ , she chides herself. _What are you, five?_

She glances out of the corner of her eye that he is staring at her with a perplexed look, but she doesn’t avert her gaze to him at all. She continues staring at the water, desperately wishing for it to come close enough to them, just to wash her away from him.

“It appears I drank too rashly at the Rabbit Hole last night,” he says quietly. “But that’s how Liam’s death is remembered every year,” he adds with a wry chuckle, sounding too sarcastic, even for Killian.

Emma remains silent, slowly cramming two large scallops into her mouth as she continues  to stare at the horizon blankly, silently praying for him to go away. She really doesn’t want to see him, let alone speak with him.

“Swan, are you all right?” he suddenly questions. “It seems as if you’re avoiding me. You haven’t stopped by for a visit to yours truly, not even Tiger Lily.”

“Seriously?” She lets the word slip as she looks at him in full disbelief. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Killian frowns, seemingly not understanding the situation. “Come to think of it,” he adds as he nervously scratches behind his ear, “you haven’t stopped by yesterday, either.”

“I haven’t stopped by yester-,” she pauses as she lets out a dramatic huff, rubbing her forehead in annoyance for extra measure.

“Emma, is something amiss?” he inquires with a furrow of his eyebrows and she is just about to sarcastically comment on his marvelous acting, but senses that her inner lie detector is not beeping incessantly. It’s then that she realizes.

_He doesn’t remember._

Her mind almost spins because _he doesn’t remember_ , and she should take the open opportunity to brush off the incident and laugh as if nothing happened. After all, he doesn’t remember, and he’d never say those words to her anyway.

_You are not my girlfriend._

_You are not Liam._

_Nobody ever cared for you, love. Not even your bloody parents._

_Aye. Anger, hurt, disappointment. Really, love. How can you live with yourself?_

Despite her best intentions, the nasty words come back to bite at her, and she blinks the stinging tears back so they don’t fall down her cheeks. Her guard towers over her heart, her walls building up higher than ever. Hastily packing the styrofoam containers into the bag, she scrambles to her feet and turns off the music. “Leave me alone,” she commands coldly.

“Love? Is everything all right?” Killian scrambles to his feet as well, concern circulating in the cerulean eyes that gaze back at her. She gazes back at them, her mouth partly open as she considers kissing the small pout off his lips-

_No._ He hurt her. She will run and keep him away from her. She’s tired of getting hurt over and over.

“I don’t want to ever see you again,” she musters in a bitter tone as she stalks off, ignoring Killian’s desperate call for Swan to “come back! Emma, wait. Please, love, I want to know-”

When Swan gets in the Bug, she drops her head heavily on the steering wheel. _Pull yourself together, Emma_ , she demands as she takes a deep breath and lifts her head, keeping a powerful grip on the wheel as she drives home.

Killian returns to work tomorrow, but they do not speak to each other. He gives her the space she had rudely asked for, but seems oblivious as to what had occurred that eventful night. When it is time to take the break for lunch, they both head to Granny’s, but they don’t eat at the same booth. Instead, she orders a take-out and brings it back to the station, where she eats alone.

“What happened between you two?” Ruby whispers, beckoning her head to Killian, who is engrossed in digging through records of old criminals.

“He said some things,” Emma admits quietly, staring longer at the vintage pen-holder on the desk than intended.

“Oh Emma, he probably didn’t mean them!” Ruby exclaims in a low whisper. “You know how he feels about you.”

And the pang of remorse shoots through her, leaving a guilty grimace on her face as she reaches out to twiddle with the red ballpoint. She _knows_ Killian didn’t mean any of the words he said - or did he? Alcohol tends to open the most personal, honest thoughts of a person.

“Well, he shouldn’t have said them,” Emma sighs, returning the writing utensil to its spot on the holder as she shakes her head, golden waves tumbling over her face.

“If you say so,” Ruby mutters, raising her eyebrows in suspicion.

*******

About a week passes, and Emma is spending her Saturday night binge-watching _Gilmore Girls_. The fourth episode of the first season is about to commence, but the serenity of the atmosphere is abruptly interrupted by the sound of Killian barging into the apartment.

She groans. How could she forget to lock the door?

“Emma,” he utters in such a broken tone that her eyes well up with tears. She’d never thought she would miss the way he says her name in that stupidly gorgeous accent.

“What are you doing here?” she demands, instantly rising from the couch, leaving the discarded box of cinnamon spice cookies to land on the floor and scatter the treats on the carpet.

“I-I said some horrible things to you, di-didn’t I?” he stammers, eyes blown wide open.

“Now you remember?” she retorts sarcastically, crossing her arms, almost petulantly, as she shoots daggers at him.

“Love, please forgive me,” he pleads. “I would never say such things. I was not thinking at all. I truly am sorry. Please forgive me, Emma.”

And she wants to. _Really_ wants to forgive him. She misses his companionship and his stupidly adorable speeches on good form and his gorgeous face and _him_.

  
_Heartbreak is the national anthem_  
 _We sing it proudly_  


But whenever she tries to, his vile words come to haunt her again. “Killian, you hurt me,” she whispers, a betraying tear slipping down her cheek. “I trusted you. You promised never to say those things to me.” _  
_

He reaches out hesitantly and wipes away the tear, and her heart is just about prepared to burst from her chest. The feelings come rushing back and she tries hard to stomp them down, but she can’t prevent the slight blush from breaking out on her cheeks.

Killian seems to take it as a good sign because he regards her with a small, timid smile before enveloping her hands with his own.

She desperately tries to ignore the sparks flying at the contact of skin onto skin.

“Emma, I would never,” he vows. “Will you forgive me?”

  
_We are too busy dancing_  
 _To get knocked off our feet_  


And she is on the brink of doing so, but her heart stubbornly reconstructs the walls he’s attempting to break down. No, she will not be vulnerable to anybody anymore. She thrusts his hands away angrily, fury dancing in her bright, green eyes that he admires, oh so much.

“No. You promised never to hurt me, and you did. Everybody hurts me in the end,” she lashes, glowering him down.

He replaces confusion with indignation and she watches his jaw clench tightly. “I was drunk.”

“And that’s the excuse you’re using? Seriously?” she huffs in exasperation. “Drunkenness doesn’t justify anything.”

“Bloody hell, Emma,” he almost growls. “I want to fix this, but you are so baffling to comprehend with. Why are you always running?”

“I’m not running,” she denies, biting her lip nervously. _Damn him for always reading her like the open book he claims her to be._

“Aye, love, you are. Why are you so scared of staying? I think it’s because you can see a future here. A happy one,” and he accentuates it with his fingers gesturing to each other.

She rolls her eyes. “Stop being an asshole.”

“No, no, no. I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘gentleman.’

She gasps at the parroting of his words from _that night_ and he seems to remember because his eyes widen slightly and he steps back, leaving his hand positioned in mid-air.

“Get out,” she storms, pointing to the ajar door. He silently obeys her and shuffles his feet outside into the corridor, turning to glance at her with his sad eyes. “ _Goodbye_ , Killian,” she emphasizes as she shuts the door, remembering to lock it this time.

But after she closes the door, she feels all the anger drain away, leaving her exhausted and empty. She lets her head drop on the door as she stares blankly on the floor, attempting to blink away the tears, but to no avail. They rapidly fall, dripping over her nose and down on the wooden planks. She turns around and presses her back against the door, gradually sliding down until her bottom hits the floor. She leans her golden head back and shuts her eyes, breathing slowly until she doesn’t have any more energy to cry.

*******

They aren’t friends anymore, and all of Storybrooke can see that by observing their rivalry. They attempt to best each other at the police station, and with every chance they get, they treat each other obnoxiously in their own respectable homes. One day, it is blaring music; the next, noisy banging throughout the rooms that echo to the other apartment because the walls just _had_ to be paper-thin.

Ruby notices the “war” between them, but wisely refrains from stepping in as a peace negotiator. However, Emma has caught her friend roll her eyes in exasperation when she and Killian spew saucy terms at each other.

And at the end of it all, the bickering ends with a sardonic grin thrown her way, Emma rewarding it with a groan and a wish for Killian to disappear so mysteriously and without contact that eventually, nobody bothers finding him.

The December holidays come and go, and she declines attending the staff holiday party. She’d rather greet the new year with leftovers from Granny’s than with Killian in the midst.

(She tries to ignore the fact that Killian apparently _didn’t_ go to the party, judging from the noise of glass bottles she can hear through the walls.)

Their rivalry only increases, but she realizes through it that she _misses_ him.

She misses the sound of his laughter, the bright blue of his beautiful eyes, the way he stares at her sometimes with his mouth fixated in that small, stupidly adorable _o_. Well, it’s all her fault. But she can’t go back now. She pushed him completely out of her life.

*******

Emma signs the form and hands it to Killian without so much as a glance before she leans against the chair and folds her arms. _Who knew paperwork would be so tedious_ , she reflects with chagrin as criminal records of a certain Mr. Gold flash through her mind. Her stomach lets out a rumble and she clears her throat loudly to mask the sound. She should’ve eaten breakfast, but she had slept through the alarm that morning.

“Emma, Killian!” Ruby calls out as she enters the office, dropping a plastic bag on each desk. Emma immediately opens the styrofoam container, her mouth watering at the sight of the steaming-hot chicken parmesan. She begins to eat, barely listening to Ruby’s exciting announcement about her, “hosting a party for Valentine’s Day on Monday night,and you two are invited!”

“That’s okay, Ruby,” Emma immediately says, wiping her mouth with a napkin before accepting the hot chocolate from her friend’s outstretched hand. “I’m busy on Monday nights.”

“No, you’re not,” Ruby pinpoints, furrowing her eyebrows in annoyance. “And I know because David gave us Monday and Tuesday off. The whole town’s invited.”

“I-uh, I have paperwork to finish,” the blonde fibs, sipping her hot beverage nervously. The last place she’d want to be on Valentine’s Day is at a party, where Killian will most likely be.

“Swan, you can go,” Killian himself pipes up. “I don’t plan on going to the festivities.”

Emma raises her eyebrows. She is surprised that Killian is giving her the upper-hand here.

Ruby rolls her eyes and lets out a dramatic huff. “You two are ridiculous. I know you guys hate each other, but that doesn’t mean you should be alone on Valentine’s Day! Come on, you guys don’t have to talk to each other at all. Deal?”

Emma and Killian exchange glances. _I think we can manage, love_ , his eyes seem to tell her.

_I guess so_ , her eyes tell him back and she sighs as she faces the brunette, who has an anticipated look chiseled on her pretty features. “Fine, deal.”

“Awesome!” Ruby claps her hands excitedly. “There’s just one thing,” she adds, her voice trailing off when Emma raises a mute eyebrow in question. “I need a cake, but Mary Margaret won’t be able to bake this weekend. Can you both bake the cake and bring it to the party?” she quickly finishes.

Emma rises to her feet. “Seriously? You know how much we can’t stand each other!” she almost shouts, pointing a disdainful finger at the raven-haired man.

Said raven-haired man rolls his eyes and reverts his gaze to the screen, seeming to scrutinize it intently. Emma glances at him before she feels Ruby tug on the sleeve of her sweater and drag her out of the office so Killian wouldn’t eavesdrop on their conversation. “This love-hate relationship has got to end,” she whispers to the blonde.

“There’s no love in it whatsoever,” Emma fiercely deadpans, quickly hushing when Ruby glares at her. “Was this something you planned?” the blonde interrogates.

“Sort of?” Ruby confesses. “Listen,” she advises. “It’s just the cake. That’s all. I _promise_.”

Emma examines her coworker’s face, nodding her head when her inner lie detector doesn’t go off. “Fine. But _just_ the cake.”

Ruby puts up her hands in defeat. “That’s all I want.”

Well, this was definitely unforeseen. She’s going to bake a cake with Killian Jones.

Isn’t fate such a wonderful friend.

*******

“Bloody hell, don’t tell me you don’t have a mixer, Swan,” Killian comments in stunned exasperation as he opens and closes the cupboards with loud bangs.

Swan rolls her eyes. “What makes you think I have time to buy a mixer?” she deadpans. “I don’t bake, anyway.”

“Every household owns a bloody mixer,” he contradicts, scratching the tip of his right ear in confusion and Emma can’t help rolling her eyes again.

“This one doesn’t,” she retorts with a glower.

He puts his hands up in defeat. “I’ll retrieve mine,” he says as he leaves the apartment for a moment.

Emma runs her hands through her ponytail in frustration before she turns on her phone and scrolls through it until she finds a recipe for a red velvet cake with strawberry frosting. She decides to begin making the batter, so she proceeds putting the bag of flour and the sugar on the countertop, along with two measuring cups. She then preheats the oven to three-hundred twenty-five degrees.

Killian returns, closing the door with his foot as he carefully handles the machine in his hand. He saunters to the kitchen and finds an outlet near the countertop, instantly plugging in the mixer. They quietly bustle around the kitchen, pouring ingredients into the bowl and watching the machine do its work until the batter turns a dark but bright red color. After pouring the batter into different cake pans, Emma places them into the oven and leans against the counter and tries to ignore the sight of Killian rummaging through the fridge for the strawberries.

She missed having him over at her apartment. And she feels that emotion strongly as she watches him casually standing over the sink, washing the berries thoroughly.

She rolls her eyes. _Sod the emotions, Swan_ , he reprimands herself, groaning inwardly when she realizes her inner voice sounds a lot like Killian’s.

Killian retreats to the living room where he takes a book from the shelf, leafing through it, while Emma remains the kitchen, waiting for the half hour and the extra ten minutes to be up so she can remove the cake pans from the oven.

The timer on her phone beeps and she shuts it off before opening the oven. She pushes a toothpick into each of the pans, scrutinizing it closely before shoving on the oven mitts and taking out the cake pans one by one to cool on the rack. “Time to make the frosting!” she calls out to Killian.

“Sod the frosting,” he responds and she rolls her eyes. “This mystery novel is rather intriguing at the moment.”

Emma stalks over to the sofa and snatches the book out of his grasp, not paying heed to his outcry of annoyance. She looks at the cover. _The Hound of the Baskervilles_.

“Didn’t you read Sherlock back in England?” she retorts nastily as she places the book back in its respectable spot, sandwiched between Jane Austen’s _Emma_ and J. M. Barrie’s _Peter Pan_.

“Aye, bloody fantastic gentleman he was,” Killian comments with a flashy caustic smirk. He chuckles darkly when Emma stomps her foot impatiently and drags him into the kitchen by the hand, trying desperately to ignore the sparks that seem to fly between them.

She points in an imposing manner at the waiting ingredients reposing on the counter, and he responds with that ridiculous waggle of his eyebrows. She rolls her eyes exasperatingly and he shoots a smug grin at her before he passes the bowl of strawberries to her, which she immediately puts in a blender, waiting and watching until the fruit is completely smooth.

Killian puts some music to stream from his phone, the vocals of “I Wish It Would Rain,” filling the reigning silence in the kitchen.

Emma snorts. “Temptations? Seriously?”

“Aye, whatever is wrong with the Temptations? They produced better music than the bloody stuff on the radio today.”

“Excuse me for not having the soul of a seventy-year-old man,” she quickly retorts, ignoring his amused chuckle. “I happen to like today’s material.”

“Sod today’s material,” he grumbles, stepping closer to hover over her shoulder as he watches her pour the frosting into a china bowl. “Mmm, smells delightful.”

Emma holds her breath, knowing that if she turned at the right moment, he’d kiss her. But she doesn’t shift her position; she continues spooning the rest of the pink icing into the bowl.  Eventually, he moves back and she inwardly sighs in relief. _That was close_ , she thinks gladly, her mood instantly transforming when he dips his forefinger and licks it, a bit of the frosting hanging at the corner of his mouth.

“Killian, away!” she shouts, shooing him with her hands as he bounds away like a rabbit, throwing a sardonic smirk her way. “The frosting is not for you!”

“ _Tech_ nically, it is, love. I’m invited to the party,” he deadpans, a twinkle of beguilement sparkling in his bright, blue eyes.

She glares him down. “You’re such a child.”

“Says the one holding a grudge on me for my drunken words,” he quips, hooking his fingers on the belt hoops of his jeans.  
  
  
_We hang back, it's all in the timing_  
 _It's poker, he can't see it in my face_  
 _But I'm about to play my Ace_  


And at this moment, she should hate him more. She should feel the hatred completely engulfing her, so much so that she cannot bear to look him in the eyes again. She should push him out her apartment and banish him away. And maybe even ask for another shift at the station.

But somehow, she doesn’t feel that way. In fact, she feels the opposite of it. And before she can think, she is making her way swiftly towards him, hastily pushing a chair out of the way as she stands close to him. Without thinking, she grabs a fistful of his navy blue Henley and tugs him towards her, pressing her lips passionately to his.

At first, he seems hesitant, obviously caught completely by surprise. But before she can let go and apologize for her rash act, he _kisses her back_ . And what a _kiss._ His tongue nudges gently at her bottom lip and she instantaneously opens her mouth, swallowing his gasp of relief. They continue to kiss passionately, his arm tightening around her waist and _oh my god, she’s going to go insane because this gorgeous man can really kiss and it feels so right…_

He breaks off the kiss first to lean his forehead against her as they both manage to catch their breaths.

“I do hate you,” she tells him. “But I-I really need you right now,” she adds, looking up to meet the blue eyes that have somehow darkened with lust as they stare into her bright green ones.

“Aye, love,” he breathes and dives in to kiss her again as he slowly unbuttons her purple plaid flannel before he begins to walk her backward.

“Bedroom is down to the left,” she gasps between kisses and he groans as he continues kissing her, slowly walking her down the corridor as they drops articles of clothing along the way.

They enter the bedroom and she shuts the door, tugging her with him as they both fall on the bed.

  
_We need love, but all we want is danger_  
 _We team up then switch sides like a record player_

 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Emma opens her eyes, surprised that is already night, judging by the darkness in the bedroom. She rubs her eyes and stretches, her arm hitting something pressed against her back. Perplexed, she shifts to see that Killian is still next to her, still slumbering, with his arm thrown over her waist. She reaches out to card her fingers softly through his raven-black hair as she watches him. He looks almost  _ boyish _ and she revels in lying there on the bed in his arms.

She feels a sudden chill and pulls a sheet over her nude body. Looking down and wondering why she is naked, flashbacks of the afternoon run through her mind: baking the cake, making the frosting, Killian taking some of the frosting with his finger, kissing Killian, leading Killian to her bedroom.

Oh.

_ Oh. _

She slept with Killian Jones.

_ She slept with her next-door neighbor, Killian Jones. _

Her eyes widen and she gasps as she leaps from the bed and wraps the sheet tightly around her body. The motion seems to waken Killian because his blue eyes pop open and he stretches his arms, yawning her name loudly like a polar bear. “Emma?”

“Get out,” she demands, pointing towards the door. 

Killian raises an eyebrow. “Really, love,” he protests. “You woke me. And what about this?” he adds as he gestures between the both of them.

“ _ This _ was a one-time thing,” she glares. “Now get out.”

Killian tries to challenge her by glaring back, but he instead chooses to silently obey as he rises from the bed. She tightens her grip on the sheet and continues to shoot daggers at him, waiting for the moment for him to leave so she can fall back on the bed and wallow in self-pity for always doing things without thinking.

But it’s so difficult to shoot daggers at him when it’s really  _ her _ fault for this whole mess and his glorious nude form is  _ right there _ , seeming almost to invite her. She tries not to look  _ down there _ , but she’s only human and she can’t help herself, and the ache between her legs is returning  _ rather quickly _ . 

So she releases the sheet, letting it fall down at her foot in a creamy-white pool before she climbs back on the bed and grabs his hand, pulling him down with her. She kisses him,  _ hard _ , swallowing his  _ oomf _ of surprise, and sighs in relief when he instantaneously responds by nudging his tongue between her lips.

_ Baby, we’re the new romantics, _ _   
_ _ Come on, come along with me _

*******

Eventually, she does kick him out of the loft while he struggles to zip his jeans in a hurry and cram his feet into his boat shoes and solemnly promise for the fourteenth time that he’ll, “never breathe word of what happened to  _ anyone _ .”

She closes the door and checks the time in the kitchen, realizing it is just past eleven-thirty. She can see outside the kitchen window that it is pitch-black out save for the streetlamps, but she is not sleepy. She had the most sated and restful sleep in Killian’s arms than she’s had in  _ months _ .

She groans and shakes her head vigorously. All that was a mistake.  _ It won’t happen again _ , she reprimands herself as she checks the cakes, which, thankfully, are still spongy-soft due to the cloths that had been concealing them from the air. The frosting, however, has clearly spoiled for being out in the open for too long, so she decides to remake it. Just as she is ready to whip it up, she opens the refrigerator and realizes she is out of strawberries.

She changes from her bathrobe into grey sweatpants and a red-plaid flannel she picks out at random from the closet. After cramming her feet into espadrilles and shrugging on her coat and a beanie, she leaves the building and starts the Bug, directing it towards the supermarket.

Emma arrives, thankful that the store is still open. She rushes in, heading straight for the produce, and breathes a sigh of relief when there are still a numerous amount of strawberries boxes out on display. She puts two in the shopping basket and dashes through the fruits section, also selecting a bag of cherries and a box of blueberries. She proceeds to the aisles containing the snacks, throwing in two large bags of honey barbecue chips and a bag of parmesan-flavored Goldfish crackers. She continues meandering through the store, pausing at the dairy section to purchase a box of butter and a milk carton. She heads towards the cashiers and walks so unusually fast that when she rounds the corner, she collides into a person.

“Seriously?” she groans, checking to make sure the eggs haven’t cracked. She feels a pair of arms encircle her waist and instantly steps back, alarms going off in her head.

“Are you all right, love?” a  _ very  _ familiar voice questions, and she inhales sharply when Killian’s cerulean eyes glance down into her green ones in concern. He clears his throat uncomfortably and she takes a step away, the inner alarms ringing all the while.

“Yeah.” She manages to respond after unzipping her coat because  _ it has suddenly gotten very hot in the store and she needs to leave before he stalls her… _

“Just came to buy some things for the frosting,” she concludes, internally kicking herself. Now  _ she’s  _ the one stalling.

Killian raises his eyebrows in amusement. “I wasn’t aware that honey barbecue chips and Goldfish crackers are the prime ingredients for making strawberry frosting,” he teases with that sly smirk of his, and she rolls her eyes with a wry one of her own.

They continue to stand and regard each other and memories of today flash through her mind: of the way she had clung to him, the way his scruffy beard had felt between…

She colors like a tomato and makes an attempt to excuse herself, fanning herself with her coat as she begins to shrug it off because i _ t has really grown hot in here and she is in such a predicament right now… _

He leans towards her and she can see that his eyes have darkened due to lust. She swallows but does not back down from his steady gaze. “Is that my shirt, Swan?” he suddenly queries, finger running down the small brown buttons.

She tilts her head in confusion.  _ Why would I be wearing his shirt? _ she asks herself before she follows his fingers trailing down the plaid stripes, and then it dawns on her.

She’s wearing _the_ flannel. Of _course_ she picks _his_ shirt at random. And of _course_ she ends up running into him at the supermarket when she’s wearing _the_ flannel.

Isn’t fate such a wonderful friend.

“It’s bad form to steal from a man,” he remarks softly, his finger lingering on the cotton material at her stomach longer than necessary, but she realizes that he doesn’t really  _ mind _ she still has his flannel.

“I am going to return it to you. Just wait,” she states firmly, knowing damn well that when she gets home, she’ll fall asleep in it just to be enveloped in his smell because after all those months, his significant scent of the ocean and  _ him _ remains with it…

Not that she’s noticed. Because of course she did  _ not _ notice.

He raises his eyebrows pointedly, a small smile turning up the corners of his lips and it’s all she can do not to grab him by the lapels of his olive-green parka and fuse her lips with his.

Good thing she actually has willpower. Because if she didn’t, she might’ve had her way with him right there in semi-public, hidden in the aisles.

Instead, she nudges her shoulder roughly into his. “Excuse me,” she mumbles as she stalks off towards the cashier, quickly zipping up her coat because she suddenly feels a chill now that she isn’t standing with him. As she waits for the customer before her to unload his very full cart, she turns around to see that Killian is gazing at her intently with that same small  _ o _ of his mouth. His eyes are suddenly very blue and she already feels herself crumbling.

_ No. _

She manages to control herself because then she pointedly rolls her eyes and glowers at him. He grins sheepishly in response before he ducks into the aisle and she can’t see him anymore.

But when he disappears, she can’t help feeling remorseful.  _ Why didn’t she say something? Something important?  _ She shakes her head vigorously for maybe the billionth time today and sighs deeply. And that’s when she realizes.  _ She likes him. _ She likes him so much that she wants to start over with him. But she’s already  _ slept  _ with the man; how is she supposed to develop a meaningful relationship from there?

Her tangled web of thoughts continue knotting together in her head as she drives home and returns to the apartment, setting her newly-purchased groceries on the countertop and peeling off her coat and beanie. She cleans the kitchen, scooping the hardened frosting into the trash disposal and washing the pot and bowl before drying them with a kitchen towel. In a matter of minutes, she whips up the frosting and sets to work glazing the red velvet cake with the strawberry-flavored concoction. Just as she finishes spreading the knife gingerly over the top of the last layer of cake, someone knocks at the door. She wipes her frosty hands with a wet towel and walks to the door, opening it.

Killian stands at the other end, bundled up the way he had been at the supermarket, this time holding up one of the plastic bags he’s carrying in his other hand. “I figured you might be in need of some sugary ornaments for the cake,” he announces with a soft grin.

Emma relaxes, her tense shoulders dropping with - almost - relief.  _ Why didn’t she think of sprinkles? And why, oh why is he like this? _

“Thank you,” she simply states, taking the bag from his grasp. Her fingers touch his outstretched hand and she inhales sharply when she feels a spark at the contact of his skin. She draws her hand away from his hastily, clutching tightly on the handles of the bag.

His lips curve upwards a bit as he looks down at the wooden planks, twiddling with his boot-clad feet before lifting his face to regard her again. “Emma, we need to talk,” he begins, and already she begins to panic.

_ Please take my hand and _ _   
_ _ Please take me dancing _

“We don’t need to talk,” she babbles, hoping that he drops the term. “It never happened. It never  _ will  _ happen, and we’re never going to talk about it.”

Killian huffs. “Emma, we can’t pretend it didn’t happen when we both know bloody well that we both wanted  _ it  _ to happen.” 

She winces because she knows he’s right, but she can’t start a relationship with someone she’s already had sex with. “Killian, it wouldn’t work out between us,” she mumbles, knowing  _ bloody well it would. _

He takes ahold of her hand and holds it securely in his, running his thumb comfortingly over her knuckles. “Love, don’t run. I’m  _ right here _ . I’m not going anywhere.  _ I promise _ .”

She glances into his face timidly and manages a wobbly smile, which he mirrors as he approaches her, so close he can nestle his chin in her blonde hair. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m in this for the long haul. I know you want this as much as I.”

She shrugs from his embrace to scrutinize his face. He nods encouragingly, accompanying the nod with a small toothy smile. She admits that she  _ does _ want this as much as he, so she is ready to agree and kiss him. 

But just as she is about to, she suddenly remembers Neal and the similar promises he made to her before he never showed up at ten o’clock that summer night so many months ago. And he is so vivid in her mind right now that Killian’s voice soon transforms into Neal’s sneers, and she quickly leaves Killian’s embrace, staring at him wide-eyed. 

“Good night,” she says abruptly as she enters her apartment and quickly locks the door before sinking to the ground and leaning her back against the wooden barrier between her and the man she so much wants. A stray tear falls down her cheek, but she doesn’t wipe it away, and so more tears come as she closes her eyes.

Last time she cried like this, it was because Killian had hurt her. Now she cries because  _ she  _ hurt  _ him _ .

*******

Emma holds her breath and watches her finger dance over the screen on her phone before it selects Ruby’s number. She continues lying in the bed, staring up nervously at the ceiling while the morning sunshine comes through the white curtain, brightening the room up.

Even though she forced Killian to promise he would never breath word of  _ it  _ to anybody, she is now about to talk to Ruby about  _ it _ . She groans and claps her hand over her eyes, waiting as the ringer continues to sound in her ear. “I did something really stupid,” she immediately says when she hears her friend’s sleepy, “hello?”

“Well, good morning to you too,” Ruby responds with a yawn. “What’s this stupid thing you did?”

“Well, it happened yesterday and it was not meant to happen at all, but it did and I don’t know what to d-,” Emma pauses, realizing that she is babbling.

“Emma, get to the point,” Ruby advises, her voice gradually becoming more and more awake.

_ I fucked the best man alive _ , the blonde thinks with chagrin as she grips the phone tightly and snuggles further underneath the blanket. She bites her lip nervously as she figures how to tell her friend.

“Well.”

“Emmaaaa,” Ruby whines. “What’s up? I have a party hall to decorate today.”

“I had sex with Killian. Twice,” she finally blurts, so quietly she doubts the confession was audible.

She clearly thought wrong because Ruby’s squeals resound loudly through the phone. “What?! I can’t believe it! You guys! When, where, how, give me all the details! How’s he in the sack?!”

Emma groans. “Ruby, this is bad.”

“No, this is very good. Have you guys made up yet? After making out, obviously?”

“I- uh, I turned him down. I want  _ us _ , but I don’t know what to do.”

“Talk to him,” Ruby announces. “You have to talk to him.”

“That’s the thing, he tried talking to me. But I hurt him,” Emma whispers with a wince, even though Ruby can’t see her.

“Talk to him for real this time. He’s willing to wait for you, I know he is.”

“But what if he’s mad at me?”  _ Come on, Emma, quit finding excuses _ , she scolds herself with a roll of her green eyes.

“He could never be mad at you,” the brunette reassures. “Talk to him. Work things out. And don’t run this time.”

Both lines remain silent as Emma continues to stare up at the ceiling. Ruby’s voice suddenly breaks her web of thoughts, “Listen, I have to go. If I don’t start decorating soon, I’ll never finish. Bye! Good luck!”

Emma ends the call, allowing her phone to fall from her grasp and land on the pillow next to her. She remains tucked underneath the covers as she continues to stare at the blank white ceiling while she ponders. 

Ruby is right. She needs to talk to him as soon as possible.

With the plan foremost in her mind, she throws back the covers and shuffles into the bathroom, quickly showering. After that, she quickly ties her hair into a messy, wet braid and dresses into black jeans and a jumbo-sized pastel-blue knit sweater,  _ clearly forgetting  _ that Killian likes to see that sweater often on her, judging from the genuine compliments he had thrown her way when they had been enemies.

She shakes her head in disbelief. Who knew they’d find themselves in this situation?

As she pulls on her boots and saunters to the kitchen to prepare an actual nutritious breakfast -  _ no, she is not letting Killian’s advice go through her head _ \- she hears a distinctly familiar mew resounding through the walls. 

Her heart stops. She’s been in this situation before. The situation that started the entire mess the twosome are now in. Does she dare feed the kitten?

Emma slides the scrambled eggs from the pan to a plastic plate and leaves it on the counter to cool while she leaves her apartment and tries to open Killian’s door, which is locked. She lifts the mat and rolls her eyes when she finds the key planted right underneath it. When will he learn to listen to her?

She enters Killian’s apartment, a wave of nostalgia washing over her as she gazes at the dwelling of the man she lo-likes. She hasn’t been in here in such a long time, and clearly Tiger Lily senses that because she is suddenly too stubborn to approach Swan’s coaxing hand waving towards her. Said Swan sits on the floor and waits patiently, blaming herself for Tiger Lily’s unfriendliness. After all, she was the one who pushed Killian - and Tiger Lily - out of her life completely for more than a third of a year. 

The ginger furball eventually comes tiptoeing towards Emma on her small ginger paws and Emma is amazed at how much the cat has grown in just a span of five months. Tiger Lily seats herself on the woman’s lap, opening her mouth to let out a small yawn.

The blonde leans back on her heels, running her thumb softly over Tiger Lily’s head before she rises from the ground and scoops the kitten in her arms, taking her to the kitchen. She sets her down on the floor and opens the refrigerator, breathing a sigh of relief when she sees that the fridge is fully stocked. She takes the milk carton and pours the white liquid into a china bowl, setting it down on the floor. Tiger Lily comes bounding over on her paws before she lies down and begins to lap at the milk. 

Emma opens cupboards one by one, until she finds a large pink bag of salmon-flavored tidbits. She pours some out into a second china bowl, the little treats tinkling lightly into the bowl until it is halfway full. She sets the bowl down next to the milk, and Tiger Lily switches from the milk to the treats, the crunches audible in the quiet apartment.

Even though the circumstances are different, Emma can’t help but feel a wave of  déjà vu washing over her and she suddenly needs to leave to get some fresh air because  _ it’s very hot and stuffy in the apartment right now _ . She softly whispers good-bye to Tiger Lily, who is too engrossed in her food to look up and acknowledge the person who fed her. But when Emma opens the door, Killian is standing there, a black garment bag thrown over his arm as he was just beginning to stoop to the floor to lift the mat. “Swan?” he says, raising his eyebrows in confusion.

“Uh, Tiger Lily was hungry,” she explains with a sheepish smirk. 

He smiles, a true genuine curve of the lips breaking out on his face. “Many thanks, love. She was still asleep when I woke and I forgot to leave food out for her in case she woke up hungry.”

“And you  _ still  _ keep your key underneath the mat,” she chides with a small smile. “What if someone robs you?”

“Who would dare steal from a bloody policeman like I?” he contradicts, his grin so wide that she disregards leaving. Instead, she leans against the doorpost, crossing her arms as she scrutinizes the dimples that have formed and the laughter lines crinkling at his eyes.

She longs to make him smile like this more often.

_ You can if you talk to him _ , a voice that sounds annoyingly like Ruby’s, rings through her head. She internally rolls her eyes and takes a deep breath before she begins, “About us, Killian?”

“Aye?” He looks at her with such hope in his eyes that she finds herself mesmerized by it, and thus forgets what she has to say. He encourages her to continue with a small nod of his head, but she is too flustered to even speak, so  _ she  _ is the one to gape at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“We-uh-we can go together in my car to the party tomorrow,” she finishes diffidently, her cheeks beginning to flame. “Have things to do,” she adds as she hastily exits his apartment and enters hers, all the while avoiding his steady gaze. She closes the door and allows her head to drop on it, letting out a big huff of annoyance.  _ Seriously? _ she scolds herself.  _ You’re not a high school girl with a crush _ .

Most of her day is spent shopping, a hobby she never really liked to partake in. But she does need something suitable enough to wear. 

And something to impress Killian with.

Not that she’s really thinking of him as she looks over a red piece he might want to see her in.

*******

Emma steps into the newly-purchased black pumps and steals a glance at the mirror to reassure that her hair is still in place. Her dress is very pretty, the scalloped hem reaching up to her knees, and the soft fabric not so tight, but still hugging her body in all the right places. It’s the perfect combination of modest and sexy.

As she scrutinizes her reflection, a knock is heard at the front door, causing her heart to pick up its pace and beat louder than a drum.  _ Why am I nervous _ ? she asks herself as she walks to the door and opens it, revealing the sight of Killian in black pants, a black shirt, and a vest the same shade of red as her dress.  _ Damn, he looks so good in red _ , she remarks to herself, coloring when he stares at her with that same small  _ o _ of his mouth. 

“Swan, you look-,” he begins, but she cuts him off with, “I know,” and a knowing smirk that he rewards with a soft blush and a smile. She lets him into the apartment and closes the door, quickly walking to her bedroom to retrieve her duffle coat and to clip on her pearl earrings, her only and most prized piece of jewelry she owns. 

Emma returns to the living room, where Killian is sitting on the couch, leafing through one of her books from the shelf. “What are you reading this time?”

He closes the book and holds it up. “To the Lighthouse. I was not aware you are a fan of Virginia Woolf, Swan.”

“Are we going or not?” she snaps, a little too harshly, and he regards her with raised eyebrows before he rises from the couch and returns  _ To The Lighthouse _ back on the shelf. She hands the cake to him and he holds it as she puts on her coat and buttons up, picking at imaginary lint before she looks at his face. “Let’s go.”

They exit the building together and enter her Bug, Emma starting it while Killian balances the cake in his lap carefully. The drive to the banquet hall is quiet save for the melodious vocals of Colin O’Donoghue singing, “The Dust Storm,” on the radio. She can see out of the corner of her eye that his fingers are drumming against his leg almost  _ nervously _ , as if he has something to say to her but is too stubborn and frightened to open his mouth.

“All right, what is it?” she asks as she turns down the volume of the radio.

“Nothing, Swan,” he fibs, causing her to narrow her eyes.

“There’s never nothing with you,” she reminds him as she sits back and waits for the traffic light to change color. She turns to look at him. “What’s wrong?” The light turns green and she continues driving, listening to him sigh before he inquires, “May I kiss you, Emma?”

His request is so unexpected and out of the blue that she presses hard on the brakes, causing the car to lurch forward as she and Killian bounce back in their seats, a muttered, “Bloody hell,” leaving his mouth as he tightens his grip on the cake pan.

“Bloody hell indeed,” she parrots, shifting in her seat so she can look him square in the eye. “A kiss? For what?”

“Just one,” he pleads. “That’s all.”

One?”

“Aye.”

She continues staring at him as she nears her face to his. He lowers his gaze to her lips before softly locking them with his. At first, it is just a tentative brush of the lips, a timid and gentle kiss. But then she opens her mouth and nudges his bottom lip with her tongue, and the tension is released as the kiss grows heated, Killian holding her cheek gently and running his thumb along her jawline, while she runs her hands through his hair. It is only when the driver behind them beeps in irritation at the Bug that they break off the kiss, catching their breath.

_ What a kiss. _

She doesn’t know what to do. She wants to start over with him, but every move he makes just seems to throw her off the path. 

“Will you hand the cake to Ruby, love?” his voice breaks through her tangled web of thoughts.

“Huh?” she pauses until she registers what he said to her. “Oh. Yeah, I’ll take it in.”

“You all right?” She can feel his blue, blue eyes staring at her.

_ How can I when you kissed the fucking daylights out of me?  _ she wants to scream. “Yeah,” she settles for instead, but when she steals a glance at him, she can see that typical smug smirk of his chiseled on his gorgeous face.

_ The bastard _ , she thinks with a flush.  _ He knows. _

They arrive at the banquet hall and Emma takes the cake from him, rather forcefully,  and swiftly walks, as fast as possible in the  _ stupid _ heels, to the kitchen. She finds Ruby and hands her the dessert, smiling when her friend squeals in satisfaction at how “pretty and delicious the cake looks!”

The blonde leaves the kitchen and heads straight to the bar, ordering a shot of tequila. She’s going to need more than just one small shot of it if she plans on making it through the note with Killian as her foremost thought.

She sighs and drops her head on the marble counter, the car kiss fleeting through her mind.

“Have you talked to Killian yet?” Ruby’s voice chirps at her ear while she seats herself next to Emma. Emma can smell the strong odor of alcohol coming from her friend’s mouth and shakes her head in disbelief. It is unbelievable how Ruby manages to stay sober, even after several rounds of drinks.

“I tried,” Emma admits. “But he kissed me.”

Ruby almost spews her martini. “What?!”

“Yeah, on our way here. He just asked for a kiss, and so I kissed him.” Emma winces. “That wasn’t the way to go, right?”

“Not really, but better a kiss than nothing. You sure it didn’t turn into something else?” Ruby implies with a wolfish grin and Emma rolls her eyes in amusement. “Well, he’s alone now,” Ruby adds, nodding her head in the direction of Killian, who is drinking alone at the other end of the bar. “Might as well talk to him now?”

Emma glances hesitatingly at the brunette. “I mean, now? I don’t want to ruin your part-”

Ruby pushes Emma off the bar stool.  _ Go _ , she mouths, and the blonde can’t help but obey as she makes her way to the man relishing in his solitary time.

“Care to join a man, Swan?” he teases with a smirk and she rolls her eyes. 

“I came here to talk,” she admits, “about us.”

He quirks an eyebrow at her as his hand comes to rest on his knee. “Aye?”

“I want us,” she blurts. “I really do. But I’m scared. What if we don’t work out? What if you do abandon me? What if-”

Killian moves his hand to rest on Emma’s as he runs his thumb soothingly over her knuckles. “Emma, I will never abandon you. I might’ve hurt you in the past, but abandonment? No bloody bloke in their right mind would do that to you. And there is nothing to be scared of. We can take things slowly and work from there.”

She looks up at him to see that such encouragement and hope are swirling in his eyes, and it causes her to give him a small smile. ‘Can we start over?”

He grins widely and turns around so that his back is facing her. She cocks her head to the side and begins to ask what the hell is he doing, but he shushes her with a raised finger. Then he turns around in the act of about to take a sip from his tumbler, when his eyes lay on her.

“Who might this beautiful lass be?” he asks in wonder, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I’ve never seen you in town before, love.”

She laughs then and grabs him by the lapels of his vest to fuse her lips to his. All pretense of taking things slow instantly dispenses as their tongues tangle in a dance of their own.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he remarks when they break apart to catch their breath, “but I believe we agreed to take things slow?”

“Forget slow,” she whispers against his lips. “We both know we like each other and need each other. There’s no point in taking things slow now.”

She feels his lips curve upward into a Cheshire Cat-like grin as he says, “In that case,” before he swoops in to kiss her again.

_ Baby, we’re the new romantics,  
_ _ The best people in life are free _

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
